


look around (how lucky we are to be alive right now)

by synchronicities



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship Angst, Future Fic, Minor Canonical Character(s), Monster of the Week, POV Female Character, Will probably be canonballed in like 5 episodes, but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after the strange attacks on Paris stop, investigative journalist-in-training Alya Cesaire tries to piece the truth together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	look around (how lucky we are to be alive right now)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm officially ml trash my gosh. 
> 
> yes, title is from hamilton, and no, i don't care.
> 
> EDIT FEBRUARY 2016: I went back and edited the names to fit the accepted localizations ("Chat Noir" --> "Cat Noir", "Boreale --> "Beaureale", etc) and changed the surnames of characters whose surnames we didn't know at the time of writing to the canon ones ("Bonheur" --> "Cesaire", "Xi" --> "Caquet", etc) but none of the dialogue or narration has been changed, even though certain things have been declared non-canon since I wrote it in November 2015. Cheers! #GiveUsNinosSurname2k16
> 
> EDIT JULY 2016: We have surnames. God is good.
> 
> EDIT OCTOBER 2016: This has been so, so cannonballed by S2 spoilers, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

The year Alya is fifteen, Paris is slightly more restless than usual. There are attacks, they come out of nowhere, and they’re _freaking weird_ – nobody knows how to explain them, or rationalize why they’re there, but they normally don’t cause too much damage and they’re treated as slightly more than petty criminals. Their identities are never released to the public, either. It helps that Ladybug and Cat Noir appear out of nowhere and quickly dispose of them, and after a while, oddly enough, it becomes _normal_ – and it gives Alya something new to latch onto. It’s really easy, finding footage of Paris’s new superhero darlings or taking it herself, and as she puts article after article up on the Internet, it feels _nice –_ like she’s actually contributing something, like her journalistic tendencies are actually going somewhere.

Marinette offers little more than a raised eyebrow and a thin smile as she details how Ladybug saved her from falling debris, but it’s fine. Marinette’s clearly busy, and has the good luck to be away from the attacks whenever they occur.

One time, one terrible time, Alya loses her memory, and as footage shows later, becomes a supervillainess. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying, watching it later and not remembering a thing, but Ladybug hugs her afterwards and tells her she’s glad she’s safe.

She can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s more to the story.

The spring Alya turns sixteen, the attacks stop coming. There’s one terrible day where Ladybug and Cat Noir keep the students in the school basement and tell them not to leave until help comes, and then they disappear into the shadows. The building shakes a little, Mylene and Kim cry, and she’s not sure if the sky darkened, but something happened – she doesn’t remember a lot of it – but then there’s quiet, and then there’s peace.

* * *

 

_“Thanks for talking to me, Mr. Ramier.”_

_“I am glad to, Mme. Cesaire. It’s been weird. I’ve moved on, everyone has, it was years ago – but I keep coming back to it._

_Alya sighs and repositions the recorder to move between them. “All right, let’s get started. Can you remember anything from the day of August 6, 2015?” She still remembers the headlines, clear as day, remembers the lack of identifiers in the article, having to comb through civilian testimonies and seven-year-old-old footage, having to call Sabrina to have her father look into the records, until finally – a name and an address._

_Xavier Ramier fingers the whistle he wears on his neck. He’s relocating to Belgium soon, to be with his daughter, and told her he was glad she found him just in time. “I was going to feed the pigeons, like any other day,” he says. “I do it all the time, in the country. I was in Paris to visit my nephew, but he had work that day and I was left to my own devices. But there was a policeman who tried to stop me, and – I don’t know, I just felt so angry all of a sudden. And then suddenly, I was in a warehouse, and those two kids were standing over me.”_

_She pulls out a printout of the article she’d found –_ Mysterious Pigeon Man Ruffles Paris’s Feathers – _and shows it to him. He barely blinks. “You don’t think this could be you?”_

_“It would have to be.” He gives her a wry smile. “Who else could it have been? I don’t remember anything, but I’m glad it was all fixed in the end.”_

_“And you’ve never felt that sort of anger afterwards?”_

_“Never. I’m glad. I don’t remember much, but it felt so intense and powerful, like nothing I’d ever felt before. I don’t want to feel it again.”_

_Alya nods. “Can you remember anything about Ladybug and Cat Noir?”_

_He smiles at her again. “They were very kind and understanding, and showed me a spot in Paris where the police don’t really check that much so I could feed the pigeons. They’re good kids.”_

_“They didn’t explain anything to you?”_

_Ramier pauses. “They said – they said there was a bad man causing all this negative emotion, and that I was just one of the victims. That really helped a lot, what they said, to dissociate myself from it. Also that I didn’t actually wind up doing much damage, just–” He frowns._

_Her eyebrows shoot into her head at the lead. “What is it?”_

_Ramier looks at her apologetically. “I don’t really remember,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’ll get in contact with you if I remember anything.”_

_Alya nods. “Thank you, sir.”_

_Three weeks later she gets a postcard in the mail with an enclosed photo of Xavier Ramier in Brussels, a pigeon on his head, and she smiles._

* * *

 

She doesn’t know what happened or why the attacks stop, but Ladybug and Cat Noir, if they’re still around at all, have gotten much more reclusive now that there are no more attacks that force them into the public eye. There’s little news about it, too – _nobody_ , not the mayor, not the major news outlets, not some helpful civilian, seems to have any idea what had happened, and whatever had happened was shoved to second page of the dailies with the vaguest wording imaginable – but one day, Alya comes home from school to find a note –

_Mme. Alya –_

_We’ll be gone for a while, because Paris doesn’t need our help anymore – but we thank you for all you have done in keeping Paris up to date with what has been happening. Let them know that Paris is safe for now. May you have the best luck in the future._

_L & CN_

Taped alongside the note is a blurry selfie of Ladybug and Cat Noir on the top of the Louvre, and Alya grins and has the note framed.

She still misses it, at first, scowls petulantly when she has to finish up _another uneventful day, thanks to ladybug and cat noir_! article, but eventually the hits on the Ladyblog peter out as Paris – and Alya – get used to peace.

Something else changes that spring.

Marinette wears Adrien’s jacket over her flowery dresses and holds his hand under the lunch table. The first time Alya’s jaw drops open and she levels a questioning glare at Adrien, who only smiles cryptically. He and Marinette glance at each other for a second and their gazes snap back to her – she’s unnerved by how in sync they are despite their relationship being so new, but doesn’t think too much about it.

“We – during the last attack, we were trapped together in the same building,” Marinette says shyly, sneaking another glance at Adrien. Automatically, his arm comes up around her shoulders. “And, well –”

“Hey, I got it,” Alya says, squeezing Marinette’s hand. “I’m glad.” And then she goes and does the _if-you-ever-do-anything-to-hurt-her_ speech on him, and everyone at lunch laughs.

* * *

 

_“It’s my pleasure to meet with you,” Aurore Beaureale says, smiling with blinding white teeth and perfectly permed hair. “One journalist to another, right?”_

_Alya has to smile at that. “Right.” Aurore Beaureale made her big break as a weather reporter for a local news channel in 2019, and has been on the rise since; she’s been very vocal about her love and support for her dear friend and fellow reporter Mireille Caquet, who now does a conservation show. She had been easier to track down than Ramier, it helped that she’d unleashed her attack on a_ broadcasting station _and, despite how the networks tried to cover it up, had already unleashed a broadcast or two of her own._

_“I was quite awful,” Beaureale says, worrying her lip. “I was so jealous of Mireille, when she really did deserve it over me.”_

_“So you remember becoming Stormy Weather?”_

_“Kind of? I don’t know.” Beaureale frowns, a gesture that’s nearly reminiscent of the angry girl on the newspaper_ (Winter Is Coming – Weather Girl Causes Freezing Flurry). _“There was a voice, telling me – I could be more successful, I could beat Mireille, I just had to do him a favor…”_

_This is something new. “What kind of favor?”_

_Beaurale blinks. “It had something to do with Cat Noir and Ladybug,” she says. “But I don’t remember what it was. I just remember waking up as myself on the streets of Paris, and they told me that I was under the control of someone very bad, but it was okay. They helped me go shopping for a new umbrella.” Her smile is kind now. “I wonder where they are. I hope they’re doing okay.”_

_Aurora Beaureale headlines her new, very own show on disaster relief four months later. Alya sends her a parasol and flowers in congratulations._

* * *

 

Marinette and Adrien stay together throughout high school. Yeah, they fight, and they take breaks and one time Nino called her in the middle of the night begging her to talk to Marinette because he couldn’t deal with the state Adrien was in, but: the careful handholding, the rose blush on Marinette’s cheek, the wonder and amazement and sheer protectiveness in Adrien’s eyes when he looks at her – that doesn’t go away.

It’s simple and uncomplicated. They fit together in so many ways, her exuberance contrasting with his quiet reserve, her carelessness with his deliberation, her drive with his recklessness. Alya wonders why Marinette thought it would be anything else. She doesn’t quite grow to love Adrien as much as she loves Marinette, but she loves that he looks at her like she’s the sun, and that’s that. It’s Adrien that comes with Marinette when Alya leaves for London. Marinette is predictably teary-eyed at the airport, hugging her fiercely at the departure gate before her parents do. She gives her a handmade, red-and-black polka-dotted scarf. “Since you love Ladybug so much,” she says by way of explanation. “We’ll Skype every day, okay? It’s just an hour’s time difference. We’ll make it work, yeah?”

“Of course, silly Mari _,_ ” she finds herself saying. “Someone has to make sure you’re not tripping over your own feet all the time.”

Marinette gives her a rueful smile and a peck on the cheek. Alya turns to Adrien. “Take care of yourself, you dork,” she says, hitting him lightly on the arm. “And of her.”

“You have my word, Alya.” And then he pulls her into a bonecrushing hug. “Take care of yourself, too.”

“You’ll be the best journalist ever,” Marinette says, bringing up a hand to wipe away her tears. Alya’s heart _breaks_.

“And the fashion world better watch out for the two of you,” she says, trying not to choke up. “If this journalism thing falls through, I can be that fan who blogs about everything you guys do.”

Marinette and Adrien glance at each other like they’re sharing an inside joke. “Sure,” Marinette laughs, sweet and tinkly.

* * *

 

_“Hi, Alya. Look at you, all professional now!”_

_“And you, Sergeant Rogers. It’s good to see you.”_

_Rogers laughs, and for a brief, stark moment Alya is reminded of his daughter. “Took a while, but here I am,” he says. “So what can I do you for today?”_

_Alya fiddles with her fingers. “You’ve been really helpful before, sir, with the investigation I’m doing, and I can’t thank you enough, truly,” she begins. “I – well.” She takes a deep breath and pulls the article out of her bag._ Robotic Cop Causes Parisian Police Uproar. _“Does this ring any bells for you?”_

_Rogers frowns. “I remember the case being the talk of the precinct for a bit, but nothing more,” he says. “Why?”_

_“Bring-Your-Parent-To-Work Day,” Alya reminds him gently. “Marinette’s father brought éclairs, and Chloe’s bracelet went missing.”_

_“That’s right.” Rogers strokes his chin. “I got so angry at the Mayor that day. I don’t–” His eyes snap to Alya’s. “What are you trying to tell me?”_

_“Do you remember what happened after Mayor Bourgeoisie gave the order?”_

_Rogers clenches and unclenches his fist, his eyes widening in disbelief at the realizations, and for a second he glares at Alya and she shrinks back, clutching her papers to her chest. Then he inhales and looks away, utterly defeated._

_“It’s not something I want to think about anymore,” he says. “The person who did those things – it wasn’t me. It can’t have been. I don’t even remember anything at all.”_

_“I’m sorry,” says Alya, because it feels like the right thing to say._

_“Wasn’t your fault,” Rogers murmurs, but it’s the last thing he says on the topic. She still smiles at him and tells him to give Sabrina her love._

* * *

 

She’d been to London once, as a kid, but studying there full-time is so _different_ than what she’d expected. The distance is harder than she expected; Alya’s siblings crowd around the webcam every time they Skype, and Lisa tells her about her first boyfriend and Jan is doing so well in school and Louis sprained his ankle last week, and it _hurts_ not to be there for them all.

And it’s weird not having Marinette on speed dial.

So she throws herself into her studies, because if there’s anything Alya’s good at, it’s tunnel vision and dedication. She makes tentative friendships with the girls in her dormitory, goes to parties, and kisses a few boys, and tells Marinette about them, too. Marinette herself seems to have blossomed in college, stunning her professors with her designs and even taking a few dance classes with grace and strength Alya could only guess she possessed.

“He was nice, but boring,” Alya tells her, sipping a cup of coffee. “I don’t think I’ll call him back.”

Marinette laughs. “You should have just gone out with Nino, would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

Alya sputters into her cup. “And resign myself to perpetual double dates with you and Adrien? No thanks.” They both laugh at that. “But really though,” Alya continues, “How’s everyone there? You have to tell me everything. No weird attacks or anything while I was gone, right?”

Marinette gets a strange look on her face. “Those were years ago,” she says carefully. “But if something happened, you’ll be the first to know, I guess.”

“I don’t know. I kind of miss it, reporting on everything.”

Her best friend smiles at that, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  Her hair’s longer now, well past shoulder length. “Well, we’re all fine. Mom and Dad give you their love. I actually just had lunch with Max and Sabrina the other day, they’re doing just fine in X. Max says he’s already been offered to work on a project with one of the math professors, actually.”

“Nerds,” Alya says wistfully.

“Adrien still hates business, no improvement on that front,” Marinette says despondently. “I keep telling him he shouldn’t just be taking it to keep his father happy, but you know how he is.” She brightens. “But Chanel is having a contest for evening dresses from different schools, and they selected my design to represent Studio Bercot! I’m so excited, I really _hope_ it does well.”

“It will! And even if you don’t win, that’s still awesome, Mari! Congratulations.”

Marinette might recognize her tone. “I miss you too, Alya. And what about you? I heard you’re writing for the school paper now, that’s amazing!”

“Well, just a minor editorial position, but it’s something,” Alya says. “The editor in chief is really nice, and said she liked my piece on Putin.”

“I’m sure it’s a great springboard! Ah, Alya, look at us, _going places_!”

They talk for two more hours, and Alya almost forgets about the strange look on Marinette’s face.

* * *

 

_“If this is about the attack seven years ago, I don’t want to talk about it.”_

_Alya’s taken aback. “Mr. Barbeau, while I completely respect your decision, I–”_

_“You don’t, because if you did, you’d be walking out the door,” Theo Barbeau snaps, crossing his arms. “It sucks, y’know, to look at that sculpture and be reminded all the time of how I hurt Ladybug. I’m past it and I don’t want to go back to it, all right?” His face softens. “I’m sorry. I’m a sculptor. I look back at things too much for my line of work. I gotta keep looking forward for myself, too.”_

_Alya twiddles her fingers. “That’s fine, Mr. Barbeau. Thanks for your time.” And then – “Would you like to be informed if I find anything?”_

_He shrugs one shoulder, but his expression betrays him. “It might be nice,” he murmurs. “Sure. What could go wrong with closure?”_

_“Sure, Mr. Barbeau. I’ll keep in touch.”_

_She does attend his gallery opening a week later, because she’s covering it for the Daily, and he sends her a smile from the podium._

* * *

 

Four years pass by quickly. She gets used to the rhythm, comes home for the holidays every year, becomes editor in chief of her college paper. She wears Marinette’s scarf every winter, runs her fingers on the silky signature. She makes a best friend, Caitlyn, who’s in political science and sharp and quick-witted. Marinette doesn’t win the Chanel contest but she gets an internship at Tara Jarmon a month after she graduates, and Alya flies home just in time.

Her entire family meets her at the airport. Lisa and Louis, who’ve always been dearest to her, run to her first, with Jan and Francis holding back a little; little Katya hides behind her mom but eventually recognizes her, too, and it’s almost the happiest day of her life. Marinette is there, too, standing behind them, the biggest smile on her face. “Welcome back to France,” she laughs, engulfing her in a hug. “I’m sure you missed Paris, London is not as romantic.”

“It was very gray,” Alya says matter-of-factly. “Lots of rain. And tea.”

“Very dull, I’d think, without me,” Marinette says sweetly.

“As if I could stay too long away from the soap opera that is your life, Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette pulls back, places her hands on Alya’s shoulders as she gets a good look at her. “And your hair!” she exclaims in wonder, admiring Alya’s short fringe. “Did you just cut it yesterday? It didn’t look like this the last time we Skyped!”

Alya runs her fingers along the baby hair at the back of her neck. “Well, yeah,” she says. “Felt like a change.”

“It looks great,” Marinette says sincerely.

“Thank you,” she replies, her heart filling with warmth. “You’re not looking too bad yourself. Speaking of,” Alya adds, rummages around in her bag. “That reminds me, I got you something!” Her fingers find the soft material and she brandishes it in front of Marinette proudly. “A Cat Noir scarf to match the one you gave me!”

Marinette turns a very _interesting_ shade of red.

“Oh, _thanks_ , Alya,” she squeaks, and it’s _adorable_. “I-I’ll wear it right now?”

“What happened to Strong Independent College Girl Marinette?” Alya teases.

Marinette frowns, the blush not leaving her face. “Shut up, Alya.” Her face softens. “But come over tomorrow? Papa will make you the hazelnut drink you like so much.”

“Sure, Mari.”

* * *

 

_Jalil and Alix Kubdel glance at each other nervously. “So – you’re not going to tell Dad about this, are you?”_

_“That was what the nondisclosure agreement was for. I’m hardly going to release anything, and if I do, it’ll be anonymous and just what you’re comfortable with,” Alya says. “I don’t really want to run an expose. Nobody really cares all that much anymore.”_

_“We do, though,” Jalil pipes up. “Nobody ever explained to us what happened. I mean, Ladybug and Cat Noir told us some things, but not the whole story. And we deserved to know, didn’t we?”_

_“Sometimes I’m still not convinced it was entirely real,” Alix says. “But it had to be, right? It doesn’t make sense, but it makes more sense than it not being real. Besides,” she continues, crossing her arms, “It’s unfair that I got to have cool time manipulation powers and not remember a single thing.”_

_“That might have been for the best,” Alya says gently._

_Alix pales. “I know,” she mutters._

_“All right.” Alya folds her hands. “Previous respondents said that before losing their memory, they felt intense negative emotion. Did this apply to you?”_

_“I was really angry at Dad for disregarding my interpretation of the hieroglyphs,” says Jalil._ He’s an academic, _Alya thinks,_ has probably analyzed this scene from every possible angle.

 _“And I was so angry at everyone for not taking care of my watch,” Alix mutters. “Seriously, you guys had_ one job _.”_

 _Despite herself, Alya prickles. “Hey, you know that was_ Chloe _.”_

_“Of course it was,” says Alix with a long-suffering sigh. “Was the emotion different in any way? Like, is your anger normally on that level?”_

_The siblings shake their heads. “I disagree with Dad all the time, but never murderously or anything,” Jalil says, pushing his glasses up his nose._

_“I remember being_ really _angry,” says Alix. “I mean, Alya, you know I get pissed easily, so I always thought it was ‘cause none of you thought I could beat Kim and that none of you cared enough to take care of my watch. Like a combination of those two. I thought it could’ve been some sort of outside force, but then I had no idea where to start with that information.”_

_“Did you hear a voice telling you to do something? Offer you revenge in exchange for a favor?”_

_Alix shakes her head, but Jalil looks thoughtful. “I might have,” he says. “It was male. Deep, commanding. Said I could have the power of the gods if I…” He trailed off._

_“Jalil,” Alya says kindly, “I was there. You – you tried to sacrifice me in some sort of ritual. Do you remember?”_

_Jalil’s eyes widen. “What? No. No…” His brow furrows. “I couldn’t have.”_

_Alya shakes her head. It had been terrifying seven years ago, but she’s moved past it, she thinks, knowing all along that Cat Noir and Ladybug would never let her be sacrificed._

_Jalil covers his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Alya. But I don’t remember doing this at all. But I promise you, I would_ never _—”_

_“Hey,” she says, “I know. It’s fine.”_

_“But – that was it, wasn’t it? That was what I was arguing with Dad about. The ritual was supposed to bring back the god’s beloved from the dead in exchange for a pure heart. God, Alya, I’m_ sorry _.”_

_Alya lets him have a moment, meeting Alix’s eyes across the table. “Hey, Jalil,” she says, “You wrote a paper about that carving afterwards, didn’t you? About finding evidence that Ladybug has been around for thousands of years?” She’d read it, of course, but it was always good to get information straight from the source._

_“That’s right,” says Jalil, his head snapping up. “And Ladybug was an enemy of the Pharoah in the carving. She always thought it wasn’t ethical to resurrect someone, no matter the cost.”_

_“Five thousand years,” says Alix._

_“If Ladybug has been a thorn in Pharoah’s side for thousands of years, and if Pharoah and Timebreaker are just identities that we took on temporarily, then it must be some sort of cycle, right? Ladybug has to be a person, a_ role _, who ended up in Paris in the 2010s. Cat Noir must be, too. Then whoever gave us these identities, the voice we heard – he must have been behind the attacks. He’s out to get Ladybug, but why?”_

_Alya’s eyes light up at the lead. “Do you think you could – maybe–”_

_“I’ll look into everything I can find on that ritual,” Jalil says earnestly._

_“It’ll be easier now, Dad just got him a high position at the museum,” Alix says fondly, and Jalil blushes._

_“If it’s no problem, of course…”_

_“It’s not,” Alix says determinedly. “If this’ll help us find out what happened seven years ago, and make sense of it all, then we’re more than happy to help you out.”_

* * *

 

Alya has been in Marinette’s room perhaps eight times in the last four years, when she’s visited over the winter, and it hasn’t changed much since they were in high school – the walls are a lighter pink and she’s changed the curtains to something grownup and beige, but everything’s still where it was, except for the pulldown that had Adrien’s entire schedule – she’s now replaced it with her own schedule, detailed and meticulous. There are more photographs on the walls, too – her with her family, her with Adrien, with their high school friends, with people Alya doesn’t recognize, and it’s nice, that so much has happened but she’s still drinking iced hazelnut moccacinos with Marinette.

And –

“An actual ladybug and an actual cat?” Alya laughs, gesturing to the stuffed animals perched on Marinette’s bed. “ _Seriously_?”

Marinette flushes. “Hey, I had to make them for a project,” she says defensively. “Unfortunately, my forte is clothes, not…toys.”

“Nah, they’re cute,” Alya says, tossing the black cat plush to Marinette, who caches it with easy grace. “Although you did make fun of me for bringing them up years ago.”

“They’re Parisian icons,” Marinette replies, sticking her nose in the air.

But Alya’s gaze lingers on the ladybug. She tosses it in the air experimentally and frowns when it lands unceremoniously on her lap. “Don’t you think it’s weird that we never knew what the whole deal with those two was?”

Marinette’s eyes snap to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean – they were our heroes for so long, and one day they just disappear. The attacks just stop. No speeches by the mayor or explanations of any kind.”

“Maybe they decided that Paris was better off not knowing.”

“I don’t know. I kind of feel like the victims deserved more than that, at least. Maybe…” An idea starts to form in Alya’s head, and she slowly grins.

Marinette’s eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t – I know that look, Alya.”

Alya turns to her friend, her mind already turning over all the Ladyblog’s footage. She already has goals in her head – _find out the nature of those attacks and who was behind them, and if possible, find out Ladybug’s and Cat Noir’s identities._ “I could, Mari! My job at the paper doesn’t start for six weeks, and there’s so much footage that’s already there, it shouldn’t be hard to get names and addresses, right? Sabrina’s dad just got promoted Sergeant, I’m sure he’ll help us out, and…”

Marinette still looks uncertain. “Maybe the victims wouldn’t _want_ to,” she points out.

“Surely some will,” Alya insists. “C’mon, Mari…aren’t you even the _slightest_ bit curious as to what happened?”

Marinette only shrugs.

“Marinette,” Alya says quietly, taking a deep breath, “You know I was one of the victims. I could’ve torn down a hotel. I could’ve hurt people. I need to know, too.”

Her friend looks stricken, but she gives a quiet nod. “If that’s what you have to do, Alya.”

* * *

 

_“Yeah, got that,” Alya says, fingers typing furiously. “Anything else?”_

_“I remember something about jewelry,” says Mylene, tapping her chin. “Something like, get this jewelry from them and I’ll give you powers. I dunno.”_

_“Them?” Alya says, leaning forward._

_“Ladybug and Cat Noir, of course,” Mylene says, staring at her wide-eyed. “Why do you look like this is new information?”_

_“You’re the first person to tell me that,” Alya says, slamming her hands on the table. “Thanks, Mylene. Seriously.”_

_Mylene smiles, knowing and kind. “I’m a horror novelist. I guess I just remember this stuff better,” she laughs. “Speaking of, my book launch is next week; maybe you and Marinette could swing by?”_

_Alya grins back. “Save me a copy. Autograph it, too.”_

* * *

 

She feels like she’s fifteen again, rifling through videos and old tweets and photographs, scouring newspapers and blogs for matching information. She giggles with embarrassment at her fifteen-year-old self's overt enthusiasm and lack of professionalism, but it's better now; she's older and wiser. Marinette checks in on her occasionally, increasingly concerned, and reminds her to get more sleep, and outright _winces_ when Alya calls her at 2 in the morning to crow that she’d gotten a contact number for Aurore Beaureale. “Don’t push yourself too hard,” Marinette chides gently.

“Mari, this project could be my life’s work,” Alya says, her blood thrumming. It’s familiar and wonderful, tracking down Ladybug and Cat Noir, like she was born for it. It feels only appropriate, returning to it seven years older and wiser, and Alya can already see the article writing itself in her head.

“Hmm,” is all Marinette says, disappearing downstairs to get more tea. “You’re too young to be thinking like that, Alya.”

* * *

 

 _“Alya Cesaire! I heard you were back in Paris, I knew it wouldn’t be long before you would call me up,_ cheri _.” Nino pauses, eyes her over his mug of coffee. “I like the hair.”_

_She laughs, familiar and easy. “If that’s what keeps you awake at night, Nino.”_

_He gives a mock nod of his head, and she takes this time to look at him, wearing a crisp polo over a white shirt. She hasn’t kept in touch as much with him beyond the occasional Facebook update, but he’s grown a lot since they were fifteen, and he mentions DJ-ing at a few gigs while juggling a record company internship. “So what can I do for you today? Adrien told me about your project.”_

_He’s always been delightfully straightforward. “Well, then I’m sure you know what I’m gonna ask. Just – standard stuff. How’d you feel, do you remember anything?”_

_“Not much,” Nino says. “It’s kind of fuzzy. I saw the pictures though, and my costume was_ gross _. I’m glad I don’t remember much.”_

_Alya snorts. “I don’t know, the blue face paint was the most handsome I’d ever seen you.”_

_He scoffs. “A lady after my own heart, as always.” But he sobers, leaning forward. “What exactly do you want to accomplish, Alya?”_

_She sighs. “I’m not sure anymore. At first all I wanted was to find out what had happened to me – and you, I guess, and our friends, like who was behind it, but there might be more to it. Like tied into who Ladybug and Cat Noir are. And to find the villain – I don’t know. Am I just supposed to go through all the middle-aged men in Paris? How do I know it’s even a man? It’s magic. I don’t know anything about magic.” It feels good, getting the questions off her chest, but suddenly Alya feels stupid, like she hasn’t learned anything in the last seven years, still doesn’t know how to make sense of the information fifteen-year-old Alya Cesaire had compiled._

_Nino looks uncomfortable. “So – listen, I might be able to help you with that,” he says, looking away from her._

_Her head snaps up. “What do you mean?”_

_“I’ve had these suspicions for a couple years, mostly due to proximity, but I’ve never been sure what to do with them,” he confesses, scratching the back of his head like he used to, before turning to her and taking a deep breath. “Have you looked at Adrien and Marinette? Like,_ really _looked at them?”_

_She holds back a snort of laughter. “What are you talking about? Marinette is my best friend, of course I–”_

_Her friend is uncharacteristically serious. “Alya, I’m serious. Remember all those times they’d disappear in high school, and we always teased them about it? And how–”_

_Gears begin to turn in Alya’s head. Pieces begin to fall together. Marinette distracting her at the museum, disappearing just as Pharoah appeared. Ladybug knowing who Manon was during Stormy Weather’s attack. Marinette’s understanding look when she’d told her about becoming Lady Wifi. Marinette and Adrien slipping away during Horrificator’s attack. The strange look on Marinette’s face when she’d brought up the attacks, Marinette and Adrien getting together so soon after that strange day where everything ended. Her voice drops low. “What are you saying, Nino?”_

_Nino’s eyes meets her across the table. “I think you know. They’re not the type to keep secrets from us, but…”_

_Alya stands up so fast the chair jolts backwards and almost hits a passing waitress. “They_ couldn’t _be,” she hisses. “That – that’s just–”_

_That meant sweet, kind Marinette and gentle, sincere Adrien had lied to her face for a year as she had tracked them all over Paris, and hadn’t mentioned it for seven._

_That meant she didn’t know Marinette as well as she thought._

* * *

 

“This is what I have so far,” Alya says, unveiling the bulletin board. It shows a map of Paris, with attack locations marked by red pins. Next to the pins shows a picture of the attacker and – if available, another picture of them as a civilian, along with name, age, occupation, and a summary of the interview. “Consensus seems to be that there’s a man who was taking advantage of their negative emotions, turning them into supervillains. He has a favor he asks from them in exchange for their powers, something to do with Ladybug and Cat Noir – I think magical jewelry? But I’m not really sure how that fits in either, I think it’s like the Infinity Gauntlet from that comic book you like so much, Adrien, collect them all and rule the world…” She takes a deep breath. “From the interviews, I theorize that the supervillains – and thus, the roles of Ladybug and Cat Noir – are identities passed down in some sort of cycle every certain number of years. Maybe that has to do with the magical jewelry. I don’t know yet, I haven’t interviewed everybody. Nathanael’s only getting back from Rome next week, and Kim’s busy with training, and Juleka hasn’t responded to my messages…”

“It’s…very thorough,” Adrien says, like he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to say. He has an arm around Marinette’s waist, and Alya notes his fist is clenching.

“Yeah,” says Marinette, faint. Her gaze is pensive. “Good job, Alya. That’s amazing.”

Alya’s gaze alternates between the two of them before she sighs, exasperated. “Cut the crap, guys.”

Marinette’s eyes widen. “Alya?” Her voice is tentative, like she’s calming a wild animal. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” Adrien’s fingers move from her waist to her shoulders.

“What I _know_ is the two of you lied to my face for _eight years_ ,” Alya says, and she’s surprised by how calm she’s sounding, given the hurt bubbling around inside of her. “Snuck around Paris, oh, just saved it, did we ever think to tell our dear friend Alya, maybe she’s worried about us, maybe her greatest dream when she was fifteen was finding out their identities?” Her voice is definitely rising in pitch, and it’s almost shrill by the time she’s finished. “ _Alya, I’m just going to the bathroom, be right back_!”

To his credit, Adrien doesn’t look like he’s denying it. “You wanted to reveal them,” he mutters, feebly.

“And you didn’t have enough faith in me to know that I wouldn’t have,” says Alya, her voice hard.

“It was for your protection,” Marinette adds softly.

“And afterwards? Didn’t think I would prioritize you over Internet fame? And I told you, Mari, I told you I wanted to get to the bottom of it, and you told me _not_ to, said it was years ago – why? Some sort of shitty self-preservation instinct?” She inhales. “You saved _Paris_. I would have been so proud of you.”

Adrien tenses and Marinette honest-to-god _winces_ , and instantly Alya feels guilty. They’ve never fought, not like this, not with anger pouring out of Alya and Marinette just standing there and _taking_ it.

“That’s enough, Alya,” Adrien says, his arm not leaving Marinette’s shoulders, at the same time Marinette says, “I’m sorry.”

Adrien frowns and nudges Marinette’s shoulder with his; in turn, she cocks her head at Alya and does an incomprehensible facial expression that seems to placate him. Despite herself, her heart warms at how in sync they are even after nearly a decade. He drops his arm, and Marinette takes a tentative step towards her.

“You’re right,” she says, holding out her arms. “Adrien and I were Cat Noir and Ladybug.”

And okay, maybe Alya held out a tiny portion of her heart for the hope that she and Nino were just delusional, but hearing Marinette say it so calmly, like she was _so_ sure it was true, is something else. Alya feels her world shift with Marinette’s confirmation, but doesn’t move.

“And we do owe you an explanation, and I’m sorry for thinking otherwise,” Marinette continues gently. “We can tell you the whole story, if you’d like.” She glances at Adrien, who nods. “Right now.”

Alya nods, and Marinette goes to Alya’s bed, pats the space down beside her. Adrien sits down on her other side.

“I would say we could prove it to you,” Adrien begins, looking away, “but the keyword here is _were_. Marinette and I lost our _kwami_ , the small creatures that let us transform. You were right about the jewelry. The kwami give us powers when they fuse with the Miraculous. In Marinette’s case, it was her earrings. Mine was a ring.”

Marinette picks up without missing a beat. “We lost our powers after we defeated Hawk Moth – you were right about him, the man who took advantage of people’s negative emotions. He wanted our Miraculous, because if he completed the six of them – it would grant him so much power.”

It’s so much to take in. Alya’s head spins. “But – who was Hawk Moth?”

Adrien looks away, then, and Marinette reaches over to take his hand in hers. “He was my father,” Adrien mutters. “He wanted them so he could resurrect my mother.”

“But I _met_ your father, Adrien, even after that one day with the earthquake, he was–”

“A bitter, broken shell of a man, unable to accept that his own kid thwarted his plans,” Adrien continues, his voice almost hysterical. “It’s not like we could _kill_ him.”

“We took away his powers,” says Marinette soothingly, her thumb running circles over Adrien’s palm. “Reset the cycle, if it were. Gave up our kwami to bury the Miraculous. You were right – the Miraculous are thousands of years old. Every so often, someone finds them, and they’re released, and the story plays out again. Six fundamental forces – Life, Death, Good Luck, Bad Luck, Love, Hate. So many ways things can go wrong, but always there must be someone to fix it.” Her voice sounds distant, like she’s rattling off facts someone had given her. She brings Adrien’s hand to her lips and places a gentle kiss. “You were right about almost everything, Alya.”

“But were you ever going to _tell_ me?”

“We wanted to,” Marinette says insistently. “At first, it was for your protection. We didn’t want the fact that you or Nino knew to put you in danger, or use you against us. And then after the end the timing just wasn’t ever right, and then we went to college…” She shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“But – you did good, Alya,” Adrien continues, squeezing Marinette’s hand, and Alya once again marvels at the silent, wordless communication between the two of them. “We never even thought of checking on the victims. Yeah, we’d take them out after they’d been turned back, but never–”

“We didn’t think some of them would still be freaking out, years later,” Marinette continues. “Or that you – _god,_ you were Lady Wifi, and– _”_ She looks like she’s about to _cry_ , and Alya stands up.

“You guys have to go,” she says quickly. “I won’t tell the others who you are. Well, I’ll tell Nino, since he tipped me off in the first place. Hope that’s fine. But I want you two to leave.”

Adrien nods at her. “We’ll see you soon, Alya,” he says softly, and he puts his hand on the small of Marinette’s back as they leave her bedroom. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

Alya Cesaire stays up long into the night typing furiously into her laptop, words mixing with frustration mixing with hurt mixing with sleep deprivation spilling onto the screen. Tab after tab on Gabriel Agreste and his financial dealings, Mayor Bourgeoisie’s corruption, the Parisian earthquake of 2016 that caused no damage, sparse findings on the Internet about the Miraculous, journals Jalil had sent her previously. She thinks of all the omissions Marinette has told her, all the excuses that had slipped out of Adrien’s mouth, and her fingers move faster.

Finally, before the witching hour, she finishes it, reads it over, and feels, strangely, _pride_. _As Luck Would Have It: The Real Story behind Paris’s Iconic Heroes_. It’s one of the best things she’s ever written for _sure_ , facts well-cited, opinions well-researched, and prose well-written. She could send it over to the Dailies and have it front-page, no problem.

But Alya reads it over one more time, feels the urge to cry, and knows she won’t be publishing it. She’ll cut out details and names for the sake of the other akuma victims who wanted an explanation, but already feels in her bones that this piece won’t make it to mainstream media.

She loves Marinette and Adrien, and knows they deserve better than this, that they were looking out for her, too, that every time they suited up they were fighting for her and Nino and Miss Bustier and Chloe and Sabrina’s father and all of Paris, and they were just _kids_ whose friends were being possessed. It wasn't her fault she'd been turned into Lady Wifi, and it wasn't their fault they had to shield her from the worst of it.

Alya might not have forgiven them just yet, exactly, but she understands.

There’s a picture of her and Marinette, age 12 on the school steps, sitting on her bedside table. Alya’s pushing Marinette forward, trying to get more of her into the picture. _And to think you turned out braver and more confident than I could ever have thought_.

So she saves the file, turns off her computer, and goes to sleep.

The next day she sends a text to Marinette – _hey, dummy, you left out a few details in your story. meet @ the usual later at 4?_ – and smiles, lays down on her bed, and waits.

**Author's Note:**

> alya is my girl! and anyway is this show not going to acknowledge that all of marinette and adrien's friends try to cause them grievous harm for some time?? comments are <3


End file.
